Try
by IronSister
Summary: She had tried so hard. But fire can't fire.


**Don't own it. **

She tried. She really did try.

She avoided him in the hallways, never made eye contact, or any type of contact for that matter.

But there was the few occasions, when they stood outside a classroom, where she would accidentally brush past him on her way to her friends, or looked into his eyes for a moment when they were at dinner. She remembered those. How could she forget? Even seeing the hazel of his eyes sent a white hot feeling shooting down her spine. She was left tingling for hours afterwards. Even through multiple layers of fabric could she feel the familiar heat when they had those rare accidental touches.

She tried so hard to ignore him. 'It's just a phase,' she told herself. 'It's nothing important.' But as sixth year blended into seventh the feeling didn't fade.

She was shocked when she found out that he was the new Head Boy. A black feeling of dread settled in her stomach. It seemed the distance had not made her feelings fade, rather it made them all the stronger. She had spent ten minutes just staring at his name in the messy script of her friend, before reality hit her.

They could never be together. She had spent six years hating him; it had to be against someone's principles or rules or something. Yet she couldn't stop dreaming.

She thought she could keep them under control. But when she saw the mop of tousled hair they hit her like a tonne of bricks. A tingling warmth spread across her body, and no amount of pinching herself could break through the barrier. Luckily a lighter head of hair got in her view, so she didn't stand there watching him like an idiot. She loved her friend's blissful ignorance.

Things got worse on the train. She had to meet with all the prefects, including him. She arrived early, as per usual, a cream blind pulled over the small window looking into the carriage. That should have been a warning sign, but she was busy trying to calm her heart at the thought of being in close confines with him.

He was in there, of course, twirling his wand in his fingers, a habit she usually found annoying yet now sinfully endearing. He looked up at her, and another jolt went through her spine at the wide hazel eyes. She was close enough that she could see the specks of colour through the thick glass that slightly distorted his eyes. His mouth was slightly ajar, and his posture straight in his chair. Her eyes trailed over his Quidditch jersey, his worn blue jeans, not noticing that he had spoken.

She felt like an idiot asking him again, but her eyes were drawn to his lips, forming unheard words as she watched them move. She nodded, dumbstruck. She could see the slight hint of stubble, showing that he had, again, been running late. She smiled fondly at the countless times she had seen him bolting through the halls of the castle, his hair awry (even more than usual). He ran his hand nervously through his hair, yet another habit now on the better side of attractive than irritating. She wished she could do it for him, before she pinched herself again, in a desperate attempt to rid the tingles from her body. She sat down on the opposite side of the carriage, avoiding eye contact and trying to calm herself before blood rushed to her cheeks, praying for the other prefects to come.

She had been at Hogwarts for years, but somehow she could find no other route than the one he was on. The tingles now permanently resided in her body, which no amount of abuse to her skin could shed. This was not for lack of trying, and she had a purple bruise on her inner forearm.

What was more terrible was the fact that she had rounds with him. They walked in silence, until they heard the telltale moans from a broom cupboard. Sometimes they opened them just in case, and the fire that raced down her body gave part of her mind the idea to push him in and follow after, but the more logical side of her kept her actions in check.

She tried so hard. She really did.

But they were studying in the common room, and they had agreed on a truce. Her left side was permanently hot, since it was pressed to his right. He was supposed to be helping her with transfiguration. That wasn't working out too well, especially for her concentration.

She was admiring her self-control until he looked at her. She looked back at him. They were inches apart, and she watched the reflection of the fire in his glasses. She felt like the fire had jumped into her and was resting in the centre of the chest, propelling its heat to the places he brushed. He tucked hair behind her ear and her cheek was warm. The fire ran along her waist as he gently place his hand there. He leaned forward and a spark tickled her nose as his brushed against hers. Her hand was on fire as he intertwined his fingers with hers, the other still on her waist, and she never wanted to leave this moment. She could not bear the pain and the cold if he moved, and he didn't. He slowly inched his way towards her.

She was ablaze as they finally kissed. He was warm and so was she. They were one flame, and as they sat in the red emblazoned room with the fire seeming cold compared to the heat emanating from the two, and everything seemed dull as the true reds, yellows and blues flickered behind their eyes. The gold lion of their house seemed faded, the red seemed pale compared to what they were witnessing.

They eventually broke apart, both feeling the loss. They were cold, like they never thought they could feel. They clutched each other, before returning to their forgotten magic, still holding each other and trying to imitate the blaze while being able to complete their work.

She had tried, she really did.

She didn't need to.

**Review or PM me with tomorrow's couple. **

**Thanks for reading. **


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